Redeeming Choices
by Abigail-Nicole
Summary: Eight years ago, Starfire went missing, breaking the Titans apart. Now, Robin has spent eight years looking for, but the woman he's found isn't anything like who's he's looking for. What are Slade and his new partner planning? An AU.
1. Losing Enlightenment

**

Redeeming Choices

**

**Chapter One: Losing Enlightenment**

**Summary:** Eight years ago, Starfire went missing, breaking the Titans apart. Now, Robin has spent eight years looking for, but the woman he's found isn't anything like who's he's looking for. What are Slade and his new partner planning? An AU. 

**Notes:** This is out of character. In fact, this is so out of character that I'm going to go ahead and say that it's **AU** (Alternate Universe). Starfire is outrageously evil-sexy, Nightwing will be clueless, Slade will be maniuplative and cute, Beastboy is jaded, Raven is enlightened, and everything else is an original character or plot. WARNING: This is highly confusing to everyone but me. Enjoy. XD 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Titans. The opening bit comes from Noriaki Kakyoin's story _The Hitman_, it's a lovely Slade/Starfire so go read it. Beautiful Stuff all around.

* * *

**2002**

_Slade looked a bit uncomfortable, driving down the highway with a girl no more than 17, sitting shotgun. _She's crazy,_ he thought in disbelief, but there was delight in the thought. She casually tossed the phone out the window and smiled at him. He glanced at her, but the smile was infectous and he couldn't help but smile back. "Why did you...?" he began. _

"I have reasons," Starfire said mysteriously, and her smile deepened secretively. 

"You do?" he asked, tone skeptical. Not Starfire, the good one, the entirely too ethical alien with her strange beauty and angelic green eyes that he--he cut off the train of thought . 

"Yes," she said in a tone of voice that made him stiffen and turn back to the wheel, "I do." 

He turned on the radio, trying to block out everything. Had this just happened? An assassin was sitting in a car next to the girl that he was supposed to have held hostage. He wasn't sure who was the hostage now. Trying not to think that, he turned up the radio. 

"Is it only a dream to a teenaged queen? and all the years of tears and laughter that we can go through, will it be happy ever after for me and you?"

Slade turned it down. "I swear, this thing is against me," he said lightly. He glanced side long at Starfire, but she only smiled knowingly. "What to do now?" 

"Perhaps we could disappear," Starfire said thoughtfully. "I think it is best. I am eager for a new adventure...far away from here." 

"I hear Europe's nice this time of year. We could see Venice, Athens, Berlin..." 

"...London and Paris," Starfire added too innocently. She smiled mischievously, much to Slade's chagrin, but he grinned regardless. 

"You're a little imp, aren't you?" he asked, but not without affection. 

"Am I?" she asked innocently. 

Slade laughed and Starfire smiled at him. "This could be the start of something, you know," he said, then paused. Starfire smiled serenely. 

"I believe it already is." 

**May 5th, 2010**

"Do you know all the guests for tonight?" Miranda Jameson asked her guest, a darkhaired boy of maybe twenty. He furrowed his brow. 

"I don't know all of them, I can't be sure. Who's the host?" 

Miranda picked up her wineglass and began to walk as she talked, indicating for her guest to follow her. "Mr. Richard West, of course, offered his ballroom and paid for everything. It was a great honor for him, since the President and Prime Minister chose his hotel for their business in Europe. Now," she paused and indicated a blonde woman in a red dress. "That is Miss Andrea Saxton, who was in charge of decorations, guest lists, refreshments. Almost everyone was invited, you know, who was a major contributor, as well as a lot of the politicians who are very important. There's some quite nasty gossip going around about her, but I won't repeat that." 

The boy paused. "Who is that redheaded woman?" he asked suddenly. "In the white dress." 

"Oh, that's Kori Anderson," she said, offhand. "Pretty, isn't she? I've always wanted hair like that. French, I believe she is. She's a quote-unquote "business partner" with Dr. Wilson. Now there's some topic for gossip if you wanted one. Hold on, where are you--?" Miranda watched, puzzled, as he strode off toward Kori with no more heed to her. "Wonder if he knows her." She speculated for a moment, then shrugged and took a sip of her champagne. "Ah well." 

"Miss Kori Anderson?" 

The redheaded woman turned to face her visitor, tilting her head upward slightly to look him in the face. "Oui?" 

He inclined his head. "I am Mr. Richard Grayson. Would you walk with me, please?" 

She looked puzzled but responded with a courteous: "Just a moment." She turned gracefully and set down the glass of champagne she was holding; her white silk gloves left no fingerprints. Her visitor took notice of this immediately, but said nothing. He offered her his arm and she took it, walking towards the long windows on the end of the ballroom. 

"This is a very important meeting," he began, more watching her face than talking. "The President, the Prime Minister, plus all of the prominent politicians. Quite a lot of targets in one place," he said casually, glancing at her face. 

It was faintly puzzled but not out of character. "Targets?" 

"They are world leaders, Miss Anderson. May I remark upon your name? Anderson is British in nature, whereas you claim to be French. And Kori is not well suited to either language." 

"My father was British," she said easily, her face bearing no trace of the lie he was looking for. "My mother French. Not an uncommon pairing where I am from. And as for first names, what of them? They are as the parents fancy them to be." 

A smile touched his lips. _Touche._ "What of them, indeed? you come tonight in unusual company, Miss Kori." 

"Unusual? I hardly think so. Is there a more usual kind of company?" 

"You joke, but I do not. This is high society, is it not? High society is usually not comfortable with assassins." 

A smile played on her lips. "Then you do not know high society as well as you think," she said, truthfully but with a touch of condescension. French to the core. 

"But why is a beautiful young lady like yourself traveling with one?" 

"Assassins? Of whom do you speak?" 

Oh, she was infuriating. "_Doctor_ Wilson," he said, spitting out the doctor. "He has a history." 

"Don't we all? I do not understand your American ways, Mr. Grayson. He is not an assassin, he is a very large contributer to the Prime Minister and the hotel." 

_American ways?_ he wanted to snarl. _You aren't her, she was nothing like you. You just have the same face, the same name._ But outwardly he said: "Oh, full of good deeds and noble intentions, I'm sure. Well, Miss _Anderson_, this man once tried to murder four of my best friends, and then enslave me. He kidnapped one of them, and she has never been seen again. She looked like _you_, Kori Anderson. If you are her--," 

"But I am not," she interrupted, her eyes cold and contemptuous. "It is not my fault that you mistake me for a woman you are looking for, and from what I see of you, is probably happier away from your prescence if she has had time to become comfortable there. It's been long enough, Mr. Grayson, and maybe she has something else now. Stop thinking of yourself so much and start thinking of others--and as for me, do not mistake me for dead women!" 

Spots of anger in her cheeks flashed and she swept off, leaving Nightwing where he stood. He stood there for a long time afterward, his eyes dark and unreadable.  
  
- 

Kori's flash of anger was soon replaced by a paleness as she swept quickly across the crowd, nodding and murmuring half-hearted "Excuse me"s to distinguished guests, keeping one eye on _Richard Greyson_. Yes, she knew him by that name, and the anger of seeing him here had made her careless, too careless. She had all but revealed herself--they must leave. 

She came to a cluster of men in tuxedos, who smiled at her and murmured pleasantries. Slade turned to look at her curiously, his eye taking in her pale face and trembling hands. "I am feeling a little sick," she said clearly, and the men nodded their sympathies. Slade exchanged parting words and led her from the ballroom with an arm around her shoulders. 

Once outside, they went down the hall a little ways, exiting to stand outside on a balcony. Slade made sure no one was following them, then turned to her. Her French accent and trembling voice disappeared as she spoke, her tone becoming calmer and unaccented. 

"Robin..." her voice twisted, "Nightwing...is here." 

Slade was immediately alert. "He talked to you?" 

She drew in a breath. "I tried to throw him off, but I am almost certain he knows me." 

Slade cursed under his breath. "I don't think he would attack in the ballroom, but it's too late now. We need to leave. Can you fly down to the garage without being seen?" 

Kori nodded. "Hold onto me," she said, and he grabbed her around the waist. She put her arms over his and lifted off the ground, floating over the railing before going down. Slade closed his eyes, more to relax then from fear of heights, leaning his head against her shoulder. She kept to the shadows, knowing her visibility in the white dress, avoiding windows. 

"You look beautiful tonight," Slade said. 

"Do you ever become afraid, flying like this?" she asked softly, ignoring his first comment. 

"Not with you," he said. She smiled. 

"We're here. Come on." 

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, keeping his arms tight around her waist. Unbeknownst to him, she smiled, but pushed them away. "Let's go." 

Slade's car was black, common enough to be inconspicuous but more than it seemed. Kori climbed in the passenger side while Slade turned on the computer systems. "Find Richard Greyson," he commanded the computer, and Kori glanced at him. 

"Will we need to fight?" 

"Most likely." Kori nodded and reached behind her as the computer beeped, Slade pulling out of the parking space and starting out of the garage. 

"Richard Greyson found. 1st floor parking garage, West Hotel, London," the computer intoned. Slade cursed. 

"He's ahead of us. Kori, give me the gun in the floor back there." 

Kori picked it up and threw it at him, pulling the white dress over her head. The skirts hid her black pants, and she pulled a black tank top over her bra, throwing the dress in the backseat. She pulled her hair down as Slade turned a corner and Nightwing burst into view. 

Slade slammed on the gas, and the car raced forward, swerving around a corner as Nightwing jumped on it. He slipped but threw in a hook, line snapping out as he regained his balance. 

Slade turned and fired two shots out of the open window as the car swerved onto the open street. Nightwing dodged them easily, jumping back onto the car, and Slade swerved, knocking him off. 

"Kori, the line," he yelled, and she rose through the sunroof in one fluid motion. Her thumbs and forefingers made a gun, and with red hair blowing over her face and her eyes glowing green, she leveled it. 

"Bang," she whispered, and a blast of razor-sharp green energy ripped the rope in two. Nightwing fell behind as the car raced forward, and she wrenched out the hook, throwing it to the ground. The car was long gone by the time Nightwing picked up his hook. 

Chapter 2


	2. Night Sweats

**Reedeeming Choices**

**Chapter Two: Night Sweats**

**Summary: **Eight years ago, Starfire went missing, breaking the Titans apart. Now, Robin has spent eight years looking for, but the woman he's found isn't anything like who's he's looking for. What are Slade and his new partner planning? An AU.

**Notes:** This is out of character. In fact, this is so out of character that I'm going to go ahead and say that it's AU (Alternate Universe). Starfire is outrageously evil-sexy, Nightwing will be clueless, Slade will be maniuplative and cute, Beastboy is jaded, Raven is enlightened, and everything else is an original character or plot. WARNING: This is highly confusing to everyone but me. Enjoy. XD

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Titans. The opening bit comes from Noriaki Kakyoin's story _The Hitman_, it's a lovely Slade/Starfire so go read it. Beautiful Stuff all around. 

* * *

The room was dark, a light hanging over a small table where two people sat. Noises from the casino below filtered up into the room, making the light shudder slightly. 

"Twenty-one," she said, flipping her cards over. Her rival cursed. 

"Twenty, Kori! How is it that you beat me every time," he complained, as she pulled the fifty towards her. "I have stopped betting high when I play you." 

"You get smarter every day, Daniel," she said smoothly. "But enough with the games. Will you or will you not tell me? Must I take all your money with card games?" 

"If you played poker, Kori, it would be a different story," the fat man said, waving a cigar at her. 

"But I don't, do I? Blackjack you can't rig." 

"But you do!" Daniel settled back in his chair with a sigh. "You cheat, Kori Adrene," he said, waving his cigar like a finger. "But you are young and beautiful and make me feel useful. So this old man will be foolish. You wish to know of the Teen Titans after Starfire disappeared." 

"What became of the group?" Kori asked, prompting him. 

Daniel sat back, in his element now. "For a while, they continued without her, though they continued searching for her, without result. Mostly Robin. Terra took her place for a while, but the group dynamic was not the same. Everyone began to grow more moody without the lighter influence she had previously had over them, and fights began to break out more often without her to keep everyone pacified. After one particularly loud fight, Beastboy took a vacation from which he never returned--he was on a sailing outing and his ship crashed. The Titans thought him dead, but I know better. He protects a town called Brighton as a local superhero, and is married to a woman known as Lilith Jupiter. He is known as Changeling." 

Kori smiled and shook her head ruefully at her own memories. "He is harmless, though, much too absorbed locally. He's put down roots now. Any children?" 

"Two: Amy and Jonathon." 

"Then he presents no threat." Kori discounted him with a wave of her hand, settling back in her chair and stretching. "Continue." 

Daniel shook his head. "Heartless Kori! You are too good at your business and care too little." 

"You can't talk," Kori pointed out. "Selling life secrets for set prices, after all." 

"Without Beastboy to provide some comic relief and Starfire to keep the peace, the group began to fall apart. Moods grew blacker in the Titans Tower--Robin and Cyborg fought constantly. Raven locked herself in her room and seldom came out, and Terra was left to herself, disappearing from the Tower frequently. The group's strength was also broken. The HIVE began to gain advantage over them and they were easily defeated. Robin was the only one keeping the group going, and after a fight with Cyborg, Cyborg left. He started an electronics company, as you doubtless know." 

Kori nodded impatiently. Much of the technology was used in Slade's surveillance and computers and drones, suitably altered. "I am not paying you for what I already know," she warned. 

"You do not know this," Daniel said hurriedly. "A woman in his business is corrupt, encouraging him to work on a satellite she plans to use for her own means." 

Kori leaned forward. "Who is the woman? And what does this satellite to?" 

"It has the ability to send radio waves to the earth to operate any and every computer, in theory, with the power boosters they have put on it. It is not a well-known fact, and if it is, the rumors of its power have downsized its capabilities tremendously, but they are very dangerous. In theory, it is only used to control the computers for Cyborg's company. Not so in practice, as this woman is eager to prove." 

Kori nodded. "Of course. But who is the woman?" 

Daniel inhaled on his cigar and eyed Kori. "You have met her. Names are extra." 

"Fine, fine," Kori said impatiently. 

"Debrah Kellington is her name. She is 5'7", has hair that is called 'Platinum 7' by the company, size 4 dress, size six shoe, 32 waist and a 32C bust." 

Kori repressed a laugh. "You are thorough," she said, "So she is the seductress type?" 

"No, not in so many words. She is sincere in what she does, but has no regard for human life. You have met her before." 

Kori nodded. "Now, what of Raven and Robin?" 

"Raven left the planet when Cyborg left the Titans. My sources do not reach into space." 

Kori cursed. "She's an unknown, then. A hitch in my plan, though she shouldn't... What of Terra and Aqualad?" 

"Aqualad is now the king of Atlantis, married, with three heirs currently. He's trying to prevent an undersea civil war." 

"That'll keep him occupied, then." Kori sank back in her chair. "Terra?" 

"Owns a construction company." 

Kori was incredulous. "You've got to be kidding me." 

"No, it's true. She has a superhero alias--Rockshaker or something equally silly." Daniel waved it off as superflous. "All superheros are the same. She protects a small town called Norchester with some convenient villains nearby." 

Kori laughed and stretched luxuriously. Daniel eyed her. "Don't you want to know of Robin?" he asked. 

Kori stood up and grabbed her black purse. "I already know Robin," she said. She took an envelope from her purse and threw it at Daniel. He opened it and began counting rapidly. 

"You're 200 short," he said when Kori had reached the door. She paused. 

"That's what you owe me for gambling," she said smoothly, and was gone. Daniel chuckled once. 

- 

"Where were you?" Slade demanded as the door slammed open and shut, shaking the walls of the temporary flat. "Robin is out there." 

"You keep it too dark in here," Kori said, switching on a lamp She opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of Froot loops, which she began to eat dry. "Sweet nourishment," she sighed in content. "If I have another beer shoved down my throat or see one more card, I'll throw up." 

"You went gambling?" 

"Have faith in me. I won 200 and gave 1800 counterfeit. Don't worry, he knows, but the people he'll be giving it to don't." She sat down on the couch. 

"So where were you?" 

"Getting information." 

He glanced at her curiously, but no other information was offered. "About what?" 

She closed her eyes dreamily. "Taking out the players before I go for the king," was all she said. 

"I should never have taught you how to play chess." 

"Too late now." 

"Sadly. What did you learn?" 

She opened her eyes and flipped off the couch before falling down by Slade. "Guess," she whispered in his ear. He was unaffected. 

"What did you learn?" 

She sighed and leaned back against the couch. "You're no fun." 

"And you're no slut. What did you learn?" 

She chuckled. "Touché, mon cher. If Robin convinces them to come, proof in hand, there is a slight possibility. Beastboy has kids, surprise surprise." 

Slade raised an eyebrow. "Sarcasm?" 

"No!" She laughed. "Aqualad is stopping a war, Terra's going local, Cyborg is being seduced so Debrah Kellington--remember her?--can take over every computer in the world, and Raven's in space." 

"Fascinating. Is Cyborg truly that naive?" 

"When she's dangling a red lacy thong in front of his face, yes." 

"Is that even possible--? No, don't tell me, I don't want the images." 

Kori laughed, then yawned. "I'm going to shower and bed. Keep an eye on the Ambassador tonight." 

- 

Kori had no intention of going to bed. Locking herself in her room, she pulled out a metal case from under the bed. It was thin, about the size of a briefcase with a red velvet handle. She opened it and turned it on, a computer screen flashing across the top half. It was all written in a language and alphabet no one on earth could understand. 

Quickly, she loaded something and read, with a worried frown coming to her face. Lilith Jupiter, Debrah Kellington, John Akire, and that only left...Raven. Daniel's contacts did not expand into outer space. Kori's did. 

- 

"Hello, Debrah," Miranda Jameson said evenly. 

The blonde woman turned around in the chair and smiled pleasantly at her old friend. "Hello, Miranda. I love that hair color on you. Carmel Six, is it?? And that champagne ball dress is so elegant on you." 

"Thank you, Debrah," Miranda said, and added mischievously: "And that red sweaty jogging suit is so excellent on you." 

"Oh, don't be so flattering," Debrah said with a laugh. "Only the best for my sister-in-law. And how is my brother? I haven't seen Kameron in a while." 

"Fine," Miranda said. "But you need to get back, right? What brings you to London?" 

"I do need to get back," Debrah said. "I just need to make sure Robin doesn't interfere, as well as tie up a few things." 

Miranda cast a curious glance but didn't question. "Murder?" she said, calm for plotting the death of her guest. Debrah frowned. 

"I hope not, it'd be noticed too much. Only as a last resort. Can you keep him into somethin ghere? Away from the states, at any case." 

"He's taken an interest in Kori Anderson," Miranda mused. 

Debrah frowned, and the petite blonde leaned forward, brow furrowing. "I've taken an interest in her, too," she said darkly. "Her contacts worry me, as well as her personality, what she is and was. But as long as I can keep her in London..." Her frown deepened and she leaned back. "She has good reason not to return to the States." She sighed, then focused on Miranda and smiled apologetically. "Sorry to rant so, Miranda. I'm just so on edge with all this..." she waved a hand vaguely. "We're so close. I've got to run, Cy's expecting me at a meeting tomorrow. Thanks so much, Miranda." Jumping up, the blonde gave Miranda a quick hug before running out the door. 

Miranda smiled, then sat in Debrah's vacated chair. She thought for a moment, then turned on her computer. Time to put her hacking skills into use once again. 

- 

"Hello, Miss Kellington." 

Debrah froze as the tinted passenger window of her own car was rolled down. A woman wearing a black tank top sat in the front seat, wearing thin but very dark sunglasses and caressing the leather steering wheel with a light hand. "Kori," Debrah breathed. "What do you want?" Her heart thumped alarmingly in her breast. Damndamndamn. 

"This is a nice car," Kori said coolly, running a hand across the steering wheel and dashboard. "Mercedes--and not as harmless as it looks. Right, Miss Kellington?" 

"What do you want from me?" 

Kori smiled and twisted abruptly in the driver's seat, crossing her legs across the seats in one fluid motion, making a great show of casualness. "What do you want with _me_, Debrah? You are no threat to me, even if you should get your satellite in the air. And I, out of the States, pose no threat to you. What do you want with me? Why do you hack my computers? You can't read it, you know. You can't read any of my files, it's encrypted beyond what your most advanced engineers have ever dreamed of. You'll never find my plans." 

"I didn't hack you," Debrah said. 

"I do not know why you take such an interest in me, but you are the only one who has kept such a close watch on me since you met me. Do you think you know everything about me? Do you think you know what I plan? You are wrong. You don't know what you're getting into. Did you order it done? I don't care if you did. Tell me why." A green bubble appeared on the end of Kori's finger as the radio switched on in the background. 

_the clock's run out, time's up, over pow--_

Anything, anything. "You're a threat," Debrah said, trying to keep her face calm. "You could interfere with any of my plans, erupt everything--" 

"Not good enough, Debrah," Kori said as the volume increased. "Why?" 

_you only get one shot to not miss your chance to blow the opportunity comes once in a lifetime--_

Debrah licked her lips nervously. "What do you want me to say? You scare the hell out of me, you're an unpredictable, you could change everything---" 

Kori leaned back, eyeing Debrah from behind her sunglasses, eyes unreadable. "It's all the same, Debrah. You give me the same reasons, but not the real one." She surveyed her emotionlessly. "I don't think you even know the real reason." Her voice abruptly changed; it was abrupt and businesslike and her tone was cold. "Until now, I let you monitor me, because I held you at gunpoint though you held me at knifepoint. But no more. I have my own plans, you have yours, and you will not hinder them. My tolerance has run out, and I am taking away your knife." She abruptly smiled. "It was nice meeting you again, Miss Kellington." 

Debrah had time to shield her eyes before the light erupted, engulfing her car. Kori was gone.

* * *

**Notes:** Miranda didn't hack Kori. That's someone else entirely, and that's the only clue I'm giving you there. 


	3. Stone Blind

**

Title Tentative: Redeeming Choices

**

**Chapter Three: Stone Blind**

Miranda Jameson frowned. Mysteries upon mysteries, mysteries written in strange files encoded on her computer, though they barely needed more than what they had. What connection between Kori and Nightwing, and why? She lifted the tea to her lips and frowned as she set it down. "Egh," she said in irritation.

"Not very good?" Nightwing asked, standing in the doorway.

Miranda was practiced. "No," she said distastefully. "I'm so used to good American coffee, and when I come back to London--" she made a face, then smiled at her visitor. "What about you? Missing America?"

"Not yet," he said, taking a seat. "There's a lot to do over here."

_Good,_ Miranda thought, but only nodded. "Will the President keep you here for the entire conference?"

Nightwing shrugged. "Who knows? Probably. He wants me to keep an eye on some of the local troublemakers, especially."

"Local troublemakers?" Miranda asked, pouring some tea. "I used to live here and I've never heard of them. Like who?"

Nightwing waved them off. "The one that's the most dangerous right now is Slade Wilson, most likely. But there's a good chance he'll hire some of the locals--he works with underlings a lot. One's an insubstantial called, uncreatively, Shadow."

"An insubstantial--walks through walls?" Miranda guessed.

"Yeah. But the most dangerous is the Spidren. A sort of mutated human, I think--someone tried to cross-breed her with a spider and it failed miserably."

Outwardly, Miranda looked a little repulsed, a little fascinated. "Disgusting," she said. "So, what else will you be doing while you're here...?"

-

Gregory Shaw cleared his throat. The dry erase marker slipped in his sweaty palm; they hadn't even give him the electronic board. And they were staring at him. A worm squirmed agonizingly in his stomach, and he tried to pull his thoughts together. It was so hard to concentrate--they were _staring_ at him... "So, you see, if you dampen the nerves with the...the chemical, then they...reactions tend to be more...nerves work better...not as likely to m-mutate unfavorably..." He swallowed. Dr. Briman yawned, and Gregory panicked. "This can s-stop the negative side effects," he said quickly, but Dr. Ceres stood up.

"Thank you, Dr. Shaw, but we already have some research like this going on."

"N-no, wait, this chemical..."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Shaw, but we have patients back at the facility. Gentlemen, let's go."

Gregory's heart sunk as the men got up to leave. He curled his fists helplessly as the classroom door slammed behind the five doctors. He had blown it.

Anger rose inside of him, and his face darkened. Darkened into black, then faded into gray--the marker fell through his fingers. He's show them, he'd show them all...

-

The door slammed shut, and Kori lifted her head from the pillow sleepily. Slade had already left. Her brain, fogged by sleep, forced her to react. "Hello?" she called. It couldn't be her cat. "Slade?" she called, but there was no answer. Yawning, she sat up, pulling her pyjamas from where they were twisted around her body, pushing her straight hair out of her face.

She stepped out of bed, treading on the edge of her long pyjama pants as she opened the small bedroom door. The small hallway was empty--she walked it and turned the corner to the main room. "Hello? Slade?" she called.

"Not quite, sweetie," a woman's voice said, hard and flat with sarcasm. Kori turned curiously, face calm, but the tip of her finger glowed green. Sitting on her couch was a woman with unnaturally blond hair that gleamed painfully in the sunlight, almost like gold. Gold gleamed on her gloved hands and arms, the shirt tight on her figure, the same unnatural shade as her hair. Her pants were baggy and black as she crossed her legs gracefully, her arms outspread on the back of the couch. Her face was haughty but beautiful--her eyeshadow was flecked with gold glitter, making her eyes look long and larger than they were.

"And you are?" Kori asked, ignoring her after the initial calculating glance, beginning to move into the kitchen. The woman laughed.

"I am Aphrodite by the educated, Goldilocks by the children, and Blondie by the coarse, Miss--Anderson? Adrene? Anders? whatever name suits your fancy. I'm in the gold business."

"I don't wear much jewelry," Kori said dryly, pouring Lucky Charms into a bowl. Blondie laughed.

"No, I'm not surprised. The famous Kori Anderson--not quite normal enough to be human, not quite strange enough to be alien, with the long red hair and the strange powers, correct? A runaway, an assassin's--girlfriend? daughter? niece? acquaintance?--no one knows. A former good-girl turned bad--or if not bad, at least much more self-centered." Her smile widened. "You amaze me, Kori, amuse and amaze me."

"I feel honored," she said wryly. "Do you want my autograph or is there another reason for this visit?"

Blondie smiled, more a flash of her teeth than a true smile. "I'm Goldilocks, Miss Anderson. I was walking through the woods and found your house, but no porridge is set out for me. Aphrodite was roaming the earth searching for her shrines--what more do you want from me? I'm here to do my service."

Kori pulled open the refrigerator door and pulled out a gallon of milk, pouring it on her cereal. "I love cereal," she said, talking at Blondie rather than to her. "It's such a novel concept. So much work, all put into this little box. Barely four ounces, in American measures. Not very much at all." She sat down with a spoon and lifted a bite to her mouth, chewing contentedly. "It's lovely, Blondie. Can I call you Blondie? Aphrodite or Goldilocks is quite a mouthful."

Blondie smiled, and this time there was condescending amusement in the smile. "Whatever you wish."

"You know what amuses me?" Kori said, ignoring Blondie and intent on her cereal. "You. I trust you as much as I trust my sisters--I'll trust you with my life but tell you not one of my secrets. It's my ability to keep secrets that makes me so valuable. Are you a bounty hunter, Blondie? Unless my mark is wrong, Midas is your last name. I've heard of you before. You don't want money and I don't know how many secrets I'm willing to share. What do you want from me?"

Blondie smiled widely. "Can I be honest with you, Kori?"

"I'll be as honest with you as you are with me."

"I was paid, frankly, to bring back a body." She eyed Kori warily.

Kori snorted incredulously. "Debrah Kellington?" she said disbelievingly.

"I'm not going to reveal that," Blondie said coolly. "But more to the point, two bodies." She watched Kori closely. "Know a Miss Fantine?"

Kori was still, apparently playing with a marshmallow in the bottom of her bowl. Blondie smiled triumphantly. "You don't want me dead, Kori."

"Don't I?" Kori said smoothly. Her eyes gleamed dangerously. "Maybe I do, Blondie. Maybe you think that I'm more soft-hearted than I look."

"But not likely," Blondie said. "You are getting the Teen Titans out of the way. You are getting Debrah Kellington out of the way. You are getting ready to attack something--what is it, Kori?"

Kori smiled. "So," she said pleasantly, softly. "Dear old Deb wants to know what I'm up to, does she."

"The likelihood of Debrah Kellington hiring an assassin to take you out is unlikely," Blondie said cooly.

"What is it she wants? If it's even her. She wants a gold statue of me, I presume." Kori smiled at Blondie, and it was not a nice smile. "By you."

Blondie smiled. "This is polite society, Miss Anderson. We smile and make inconsequential small talk until one of us dies."

"Fair enough," Kori said, and Blondie jumped a second before the flat was illuminated in a blast of green light.

-

Slade faced the Ambassador at his desk. The Ambassador was not a man he liked even by the slightest of standards--his pompousness and arrogance did not lend itself to Slade's company, and the only reason he had taken the job had nothing to do with the six-figure-sum he'd been offered.

"I do not want anyone intruding on this meeting, Dr. Wilson," the Ambassador said sternly. "No one should ever know about this except me and you. As far as everyone else knows, I am golfing on my private estates. And you must keep this in total secrecy."

Slade's voice was icy--bland with a barely detectable undercurrent of contempt. "Of course."

The Ambassador nodded. "You will follow me in your car, at a distance that could be termed coincidence. Take the overpass at Magnolia Drive and arrive approximately five minutes before me. Set up guard and do not let anyone enter the thirteenth floor. You know what to do."

"Of course," Slade said again, the contempt a hair stronger, but still nothing the Ambassador could reasonably take offense at. "You hired me to do the job. Let me do it without your instructions hindering me. If left up to you, you will do much worse of a job than I could."

Of course. Feed the man's paranoia. Keep his questions away from Slade. The Ambassador was fairly certain in his own mind that he would have a shot at Presidency, a delusion that Slade had found most handy. For not the first time, he envied Kori, stuck at this desk job as he was while she got free rein. But it was essential.

Slade was at his car before he realized it, opening the doors automatically. Stationed inside, he kept his eyes on the rearview mirror as he turned on the radio unthinkingly. Background noise, appear normal and above suspicion--not worthy of it. The Ambassador came into view, opening the doors of his silver SUV.

_I fought the law and the law won_

Slade realized what the words were saying, and his lips curled in disgust and amusement, though he did not change the station. The law, he had found, was a very changeable thing, given the right amount of cash and persuasion. The Ambassador pulled out of his parking space, beginning to circle the parking garage, and Slade allowed him two floors before he pulled out and followed him.

He wasn't stupid. It was crucial at this step that he lose his trademarks. Drones were gone, the HIVE was gone, all connections to the HAYEP and the Titans as gone as money could make them. Only Wintergreen remained, and he was guarding the most precious treasure. For just a moment, Slade's eyes became steely. So close.

And the Ambassador thought he had plans. Well, Slade was almost past caring about the things of Earth. Normally, an Ambassador meeting with members of Parliment in secret would have been watched carefully by him, listening devices carefully implanted, everything recorded and filed, plans and secrets easily shattered, but he was allowing this to continue.

He followed the car easily even in London traffic, looping around on the side-street to arrive at the building and pulling into the parking lot. The building he was looking for had only twelve stories, and at that Slade smiled with grim satisfaction.

The car locked behind him automatically as he pushed the button, slamming the door shut, the dark tint hiding anything from view. Inside, the receptionist stared at him until her gaze was dropped to something interesting on her computer screen--namely the money Slade dropped there absently, totally ignoring him as he went back into the halls. Some people in suits gave him strange looks, but he ignored them. It was amazing what you could get if you looked like you knew what you were doing and you had something better to do than answer questions about where you were going. And he had every reason to be here.

The Ambassador's fee was paid up front, of course. And the trouble with hiring an assassin to protect you from assassins, Slade thought as he opened the door to the roof, was that you couldn't really trust the person you hired. It was a pity, he thought as he opened the panel on the bottom of the plane, that something regrettable should happen to the Ambassador. But after all, he was a major political figure, and assassination in high society was rarely called such. A plane accident was a sad occurrence, but not an uncommon one. Especially when some careless engineer hadn't attached crucial wires near the control panel.

The bomb Slade strapped above the landing gear would never be discovered. After all, the control failure would come first.

He was gone when the Ambassador and on the plane, followed by the pilots and stewardesses. Yes, a personal plane was a fine thing, and the death of them all was regrettable, but engineers could be so careless. His eyes were unreadable as the plane started up and rose into the air. Quite an expensive toy, too--vertical liftoff, beautiful silver body, turned on a dime, could fly below radar, faster than sound. It would have made a lesser man murder for the sheer envy, but Slade merely watched impassively.

The plane was quite high when the small explosion from the back happened, a mere flare of light and smoke from this distance. Slade raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched the plane start to spiral downwards. Hmm. It was supposed to have been over water by then, but one could only hope. Regrettable, certainly.

But toys did have a tendency to break.

-

Nightwing paced his room. Miranda was generous to her guests, and his room was big and airy, with two large bay windows overlooking her backyard garden. A closet opposite the door was built out of the wall, covered with a thin curtain that was doubtless elegant and more. The bed was in the center of the room, the dresser and vanity beside it. If Nightwing had been as suspicious as Slade Wilson, he would have recognized immediately that there was nowhere in this room to hide, and that anyone from the door could have shot anyone within unless they hid behind the bed--not adequate cover in any case.

But Nightwing didn't notice such things. He trusted his hostess and had more pressing matters at hand. A last phone call, a last request, the last he had heard from her had been eight years ago. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, anymore, and if he had been as brutally honest with himself as Slade Wilson was, he would have given up long ago. He was chasing a memory of a woman--no, a girl--who was probably dead. He knew that Kori Anderson was it, but at the same time, she was not what he was looking for. Nightwing didn't know why he followed Kori Anderson and Slade Wilson, but something inside him told him to. Slade Wilson himself would have long ago examined such emotions and realized that there was nothing sensible about chasing an girl he had barely known.

But the apprentice had never been as skillful as his master.

-

The doors to the classroom banged open, the hall light casting a long shadow down to the stage, where Gregory Shaw was still sitting, face twisted and fists clenched. He looked up into the light, startled, his face losing its strain of anger and smoothing, squinting slightly in the light. He got to his feet unsteadily. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, made out the shape of someone standing in the doorway, but that was all.

"What do you want?" he snarled. Anger had taken away his nervousness and made his voice arrogant, hateful. The figure stepped inside, flicked on a light, and kicked the door shut behind her. It clanged in the empty classroom.

"Hello, Dr. Shaw," she said, smiling pleasantly. "I hear that you have some...special abilities that I'd like to use."

Gregory listened with rising interest as dollar figures were mentioned, but his face remained impassive. "You want them killed," he said flatly.

The woman shrugged and raised one eyebrow, her luscious lips curving upward into a smile. "You know what I want, Dr. Shaw. And in return..." she paused. "I can certainly offer you some interesting information on the Hospital Board, of course. They didn't fund your research this term, I hear," she added, and saw his fists clench momentarily. She smiled at this. "I'm sure you would make use of the information."

Dr. Shaw was silent for a number of minutes. "Do you want a body?" he asked finally. "Or just small pieces?"


	4. Lingering Doubts

**Redeeming Choices**

**Chapter Four: Lingering Doubt**

**Summary:** Eight years ago, Starfire went missing, breaking the Titans apart. Now, Robin has spent eight years looking for, but the woman he's found isn't anything like who's he's looking for. What are Slade and his new partner planning? An AU.

**Notes:** This is out of character. In fact, this is so out of character that I'm going to go ahead and say that it's **AU** (Alternate Universe). Starfire is outrageously evil-sexy, Nightwing will be clueless, Slade will be maniuplative and cute, Beastboy is jaded, Raven is enlightened, and everything else is an original character or plot. WARNING: This is highly confusing to everyone but me. Enjoy. Also: Kori Anderson was Starfire's comic book name, Dick Grayson was comic book Robin (the first Robin)…I think that's it. This has elements of the show, comic books, Batman, one of my X-Men fanfics, and Jason Bourne. How cool is that? So if it gets confusing, just keep reading. It is AU, but if you go by the comic-verse Dick Grayson had at least sixteen different personalities and alternate storylines, so this one isn't really that crazy. Also, according to all canon, she can absorb languages through direct contact with a person. Don't see how that works, but one heck of a plot device…

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Titans. The opening bit comes from the story _The __Hitman_, it's a lovely Slade/Starfire so go read it. Beautiful Stuff all around.

**------  
**

Kori Anderson was a naturally optimistic person. She always believed the best of everyone, thought life wonderful, everyone honest and kind underneath. To further her education, Slade took her to Africa.

There was always a war going on in Africa, over land, or water, or guns, or religion, or someone's skin being the wrong color. The village they went to was poor, dirt poor, overrun with some government regime carrying machine guns and sporting crisp new uniforms. The first time Kori saw them gun down a child, she cried. The fifth, she kept walking.

They packed light. Slade had a gun, some clothes, while Kori carried a backpack of cheap tank tops and wrinkled cargo pants. Between them they carried only $500—when they left, they'd spend only $150 of it. "You don't need money," Slade told her. "Not a lot of money. These people have no money, that's not what they really want."

Kori's optimistic attitude didn't last long. They visited a local government-run school, watched lines of children recite praises to the current dictator while Slade factually detailed his crimes. "How can they say such things?" Kori asked, her eyes wide.

"They'll be beaten if they don't," Slade said. "Honor comes second to physical safety. Mazlo's Hierarchy of Needs."

Kori nodded, quiet.

"This is what I saw in the wars," Slade said, and Kori quietly reached for his hand.

"Is it this way many places?" Kori asked one night. They slept at the local hospital, a mere hovel with dirt floors and imported metal beds. For Slade's extravagant $50 donation, they'd eagerly given the couple a cot in the corner, complete with curtained-off privacy—the room that normally served as the office. Kori's white tank top was dusty, her hair braided and unwashed. The two hadn't showered in a week. The local waterlines, such as they were, were broken again.

"Some of it," said Slade. He sat up in bed, leaning on one elbow. The faint light from his wristwatch illuminated the curve of his face and bathed Kori's in blue light. It was pitch black otherwise—there were no streetlights. "This is bad, yes…but this is arguably not the worst."

"The worst?" asked Kori.

"These are the crimes of poor countries," said Slade. "Most of Africa is this way, because it is a continent of poor countries. There are different crimes, of a different type, in industrialized nations."

Kori was silent. They shared the cot. Slightly bigger than a camp bed, it was nevertheless the largest the hospital could spare. Soldiers had free reign of this hospital, and took beds to sleep at night, sometimes evicting the dying to do so.

"Can't we help them?" she asked finally.

"How?" Slade asked. "What would you do?"

"Can't we…open an orphanage?" she asked. "The children…there are so many of them, always out in the streets, can't we feed them and clothe them and give them a real school?"

"We would go to prison," said Slade, "Or be shot, along with the children, for doing it without the government's permission, for refusing to sing praises to the current regime."

"Can we help the hospital? Give them more beds or medicine?"

"So more soldiers can sleep? As to medicine, the whole country is in short supply. Any good medicine would be seized and taken to government military hospitals immediately. It would help none of these people."

Kori was silent. "Isn't there anything we can do?" she asked finally, her voice quavering a little in the darkness.

"The problems can't be fixed here," Slade said gently. "These are problems of the government, the dictator, the mindset, the money, the people…this isn't something you can come in and fix. And if you did, it would be wrong, they would resent you for it. They don't want help from outsiders. Trying to help this one town? It's like giving a bandaid to someone with terminal cancer."

They both fell silent. In the darkness, they listened to the sighs of soldiers turning over in their sleep, the beeping of a few distant, ancient machines; soldiers on life support. Slade's watch beeped out and he lay down on the mattress, one arm gently resting on Kori's waist. When he heard the first muffled sob escape her lips, he pulled her close to him, their bodies warm and alive. The two clung tightly on the tiny bed, a celebration of life when so many around them were dying.

The days marched on, and Kori's education continued. They left Africa, returning to Slade's European home briefly before flying to China, Russia, Japan, Columbia, Venezuela, Mexico. Kori wasn't optimistic now. She watched everything with silence, sparse comments, absorbing as much as she could. Slade's quiet stories and instruction guided her. The two usually travelled light, and alone, taking no more than carry-on bags, things they could carry on their backs. Slade always wore a gun and Kori didn't need one. They visited slums, ballrooms, schools, hospitals, factories, museums, libraries, universities.

Sometimes they conversed with presidents, Slade's subtle advertising. Sometimes they dined with social workers, drug lords, orphans, the Mafia. Kori danced with the most powerful gangsters in Columbia. One was so taken with her beauty he left her a rose carved from a ruby—a present Slade thought tacky and extravagant. Kori examined it quietly, wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it in a black box in her backpack, keeping it with her throughout the journey. Through dinners at orphanages, universities, palaces and on the streets, Kori watched, and learned. She watched all the people and especially Slade, how he behaved with them. He treated them all the same. If they ever needed formal clothes, Slade bought them and discarded them the next day, outfitting some beggar or young businessman with the most expensive suit to be had in the area, some young bride with one of Kori's dresses—always white.

Slade taught her much. He was never condescending in his lectures, and Kori was a fast learner. She learned the delicacies of global policy and came to read faces, trace motivations, sift truth from rumor, spot easily delicate cause-and-effect chains and their implications. Soon her knowledge of economics and geography was matched only by Slade.

She read widely, taking recommendations from professors, presidents, children, and gangsters, as well as Slade. Kori read von Goethe, Shakespeare, Dante, Machiavelli, Oscar Wilde, Stephen King, Danielle Steele, Harry Potter, Thomas Paine. She learned Spanish, French, Mandarin and Russian. The first seven years she spent with Slade, Kori Anderson learned Earth.

The eighth year, they retired to Slade's European home and learned each other.

At the end of this time, they were married.

--

Good superheroes are hard to come by.

Richard Grayson lived as best he could. He had a girlfriend, of sorts. Amy Hellman came over on weekends, talked about movies and work, watched movies with him. He thought she was nice, but that was all. She was nice.

His old friends never called him anymore. Just as well, he thought, setting down his coat as he walked into his small apartment. The LED on the answering machine blinked at zero, as usual. Being a superhero? How passé, he thought, and grimaced, pouring himself a drink. How boring. Like having a part time job.

He kept on, though. Even after everyone left. And in truth, he liked it. He liked the physical rigor, the mental challenge, the moral certainty. The last real chance to fight evil. Bruce was big on that. Evil. Willful destruction of all ideas held sacred and valuable—that was evil.

It wasn't fun. It hadn't been fun since she left, and he knew it. But something in the back of his head said: like this. Learn this. Use this to see her again, to save her.

He had a file. Bruce liked files, though his were computer-based. Record the evidence, draw logical conclusions. Her old picture was on the first page, her big smile and bright green eyes, red hair. The first page was nothing but facts—old facts, if it came to that. The last thing on the page was a date and a name. Last seen with, at time…as if he hadn't obsessed over those, obsessed over that last phone call. His hand clenched the glass involuntarily.

He stared at the file now as he drank, settling into a chair. He loosened his tie as he stared at the file, sitting innocently atop the TV. Eight years was a long time.

Bruce said this wasn't what he should be doing. "She called you," he said. "She chose this. If she chose to side with what you know is evil, you can't rescue her. You can't rescue people from their choices."

"It could have been forced," he argued. "He could have forced her to make that call, held her at gunpoint—she could be innocent!"

"Her behavior is not consistent with victim behavior," said Bruce, and turned off the TV. He had, for Dick's own sake, gone back over the records of all the calls, the facts of the case. "Give it up," he said. "Work with people you can save."

Dick didn't. Even now, with his head in his hands in this silent apartment, he could see her now just as easily as the day they sat on the roof of that tower together. Her face, so free of any worries, her eyes sparkling at him, her smile, for him. She couldn't abandon him…not after she'd sworn to him…

He didn't know what Slade had done with her. Killed her? If her body turned up he would have found it, he was sure. Maybe he took her on as an apprentice, like he had been. Dick shivered at those memories. "Get stronger," Slade always said. "Test yourself against the best, and keep working until you defeat them. Who better than your friends? Get stronger. Be better."

Seductive talk, to be sure. It was ingenious. Now, from the vantage point of years, Dick could appreciate it. Artful, almost, appealing to the good while making it selfish. Putting personal achievement above good or evil had appealed to him then, in his ambition. But it'd been a long time, and Bruce had taught him much.

He sighed and stood up, looking out the window, down at the city. The glass in his hand was empty when he went to take another drink, and he grimaced, walking over to the counter to pour another. The level in the bottle was lower than he remembered. He wasn't drinking that much, was he? He poured another anyway, finishing the bottle.

Now this matter with Miranda. And that party! His mind raced thinking about it. Just when he had almost given up on her…that party, he had practically run into her. Slade was there too. She was so different…he entertained doubts, momentarily, that they were one and the same, Kori Anderson and this mysterious woman at the party, but he shook his head. She looked exactly like her…just the accent, the personality, different. Slade had brainwashed her, obviously, in those eight years. His mind raced. Torture? Rape? Mind-altering drugs, wiping her memory? She was so different now. Her looks—and her face, when she shot at him. He shivered, taking another drink. To think of all those years of searching…

Dick Grayson turned his face up, his jaw set. He'd found her, finally, and he was going to rescue her…no matter who she was.


End file.
